Better Late Than Never
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: One-shot. Molly thinks her birthday will go unacknowledged by a certain consulting detective - and is proven wonderfully wrong. Unashamed excuse to write birthday smut. Enjoy and review!


**Better Late Than Never**

When Molly arrived home to 221B Baker Street, she was exhausted and depressed. Today was her birthday, and she had spent the day alone.

Sherlock and John were in Scotland on a case involving a blackmailing jewel thief, and had been gone for the past three days. She wasn't worried about him; he was having the time of his life when it came to cases. The fact that Molly never expected him to acknowledge her birthday, due to his hatred for all holidays, was the reason she felt no anger she'd heard no word from him today. But that didn't mean she felt any less disappointed or lonely.

Truth be told, she hadn't even gotten excited about her birthday since her father died. But now that she was sharing her life with someone again, Molly had stupidly raised her hopes. _I always do that, don't I?_

At least people other than her significant other had acknowledged her birthday in some way. John had phoned her that morning with the promise of him and Mary giving a dinner for her when they got back, and Mrs. Hudson had made her a small cake (her favorite: butter yellow with rich chocolate frosting), which was resting in the fridge for her. But Molly was not feeling particularly hungry right now, and wanted to wash after her long shift.

With a sigh, Molly kicked off her work flats and trudged her way to the bedroom she and Sherlock shared. She stripped herself of her clothes, too exhausted to be neat about it, and kicked them near but not into the laundry hamper. She then went into the bathroom and took a hot shower, savoring the task of shampooing and conditioning her long hair, as well as scrubbing her body clean with simple soap. This always felt good after a long shift.

After combing out her hair, Molly went back into the bedroom and paused as she went to pull out her summer nightgown. She found that she wanted to wear something else…her favorite piece of clothing in the world. So, after slipping on a fresh pair of panties, Molly walked to the clothes closet and pulled out Sherlock's purple shirt. It smelled of him, and she relished in the feel of the fabric on her bare skin.

Because it was the middle of August, Molly just collapsed onto the bed without getting under the covers. She let her exhaustion take over, and sleep calmed her lonely and disappointed soul…

…The next thing Molly knew, she was being pulled from sleep by the feeling of lips planting butterfly kisses over her face and fingers stroking her neck. She made an appreciative moan as she was awakened, and the kisses ceased. When she opened her eyes in complaint of that, the first thing she saw was the most beautiful eyes she had ever and would ever see.

All cobwebs of sleep were swept away. "Sherlock!" she gasped, and then his lips came down on hers in a powerful kiss. Molly's arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to her in happiness and love. It took no time before Sherlock opened Molly's lips and invaded her mouth, tasting her greedily.

When his lips descended to her neck, his lips and tongue teasing and tasting in a way that gave her the most pleasure, his fingers quickly unbuttoned the purple shirt she had put on. With each new inch of skin that was exposed, Sherlock's fingers and mouth would be there, claiming it as his own, though it had always been his for the taking. Once all of the buttons were undone, Sherlock took it off as quickly as he could without being rough. Molly lifted herself up a bit to make his task easier.

When she did this, and got a good look at him in the darkened room, Molly saw that he was already naked, erect, and ready to take her. She was sure her panties were soaked through when he tore them off her, throwing them after his shirt.

Sherlock spread her arms out, holding her wrists down as his mouth descended on her breasts. All Molly could do was arch her back into him and writhe beneath him. She could feel his almost constant satisfied smirk against her skin.

As his lips descended from her breasts down her ribs and stomach, his hands let go of her wrists, and she immediately sunk her fingers into his curls. He growled in response to this favorite action of hers, and his mouth descended between her legs.

From there, Molly was lost. She was sure that the moans ripping from her throat could be heard all along Baker Street. His hands held her thighs still as his lips and tongue worked expertly to bring her to her first peak, which did not take long at all. He knew by now what was the quickest way to send her over the edge. She came with a guttural cry of his name, and sank into a sweet afterglow.

Through the haze, she felt him crawl slowly up her body, and opened her eyes when she felt his hot breath on her face. His eyes blazed with desire, and his lips took hers possessively, his way of saying, _You are mine. _Molly would never dispute that fact.

He pushed into her fully with one thrust, and they both moaned as their lips parted. Unlike his pleasuring of her moments ago, Sherlock made love to her slowly and tenderly. His eyes and lips took turns in telling her without words all that was in his heart. Molly responded just the same way. Their chests rubbed and slid against each other, their pounding and racing hearts beating as one. Her hands roamed his strong back while his hands gripped her hips; her legs wrapped around his waist, making sure they were as close as two people could be.

No words were spoken – they didn't need words to communicate all they felt for each other in these situations.

They came within a second of each other, she in a high and almost musical cry, and his in a desperate groan of her name. He collapsed onto her, and she held him there. He rested her head over her breast, his favorite place to rest after making love. Her fingers ran through his curls lazily and lovingly.

Eventually, the afterglow faded, and Sherlock lifted his head to look at her. She gave him a beaming smile as he pulled her up into a sitting position, while he knelt on the bed before her. She lifted her hands to caress his face, which was supporting a very satisfied and proud smile.

"What a wonderful way to say, 'I'm home,' love," she purred.

His fingers danced up and down her back. "Molly Hooper," he breathed, leaning his forehead against hers. "My heart…my home…"

Of course she kissed him – how could she _not _after hearing that?

After that, they got off the bed. Sherlock put on his favorite blue dressing gown after handing her the purple shirt she had been wearing. They both knew that he loved it when she wore his clothes.

She didn't bother putting on any panties. The shirt covered up all of her delicate bits very well…and she knew that she would have no further need of them tonight.

They walked into their kitchen, and Molly pulled out the cake Mrs. Hudson had made for her. She knew that Sherlock would be hungry after solving a case, and their recent activities had well and truly brought her appetite back. They didn't bother slicing it up: each had a fork and ate it side-by-side at the kitchen table (for once free of any chemistry equipment). As they ate, Molly asked about the case, and Sherlock happily indulged talking of his success in nailing the blackmailing jewel thief.

"My client was so grateful that he allowed both John and I to have our pick of one item of jewelry to keep, no charge," concluded Sherlock.

"That was certainly generous," said Molly, putting her fork down after the cake had been consumed. "I bet John had fun picking something out for Mary."

"I was more focused on picking something for you," said Sherlock, pulling a flat, rectangular velvet case from the pocket of his dressing gown. Molly gasped and took it with shaking fingers.

She gasped again when she saw the necklace he had picked for her. It was perfect: delicate silver chain, with a pendant that consisted of delicate silver swirls and a purple amethyst gem in the center. "It's beautiful…" she murmured, and lifted it from the box. She put it on, glad that she had left the top buttons of Sherlock's shirt undone so he could see how it looked on her.

"Yes, I knew it would suit you," said Sherlock, very pleased. "I am glad you like your birthday present."

Molly looked at him in shock. "Birthday present? Sherlock…I didn't think you would acknowledge it at all," she said, not unkindly but as a fact, "because you hate all holidays."

"In general, I do," Sherlock said. "But just as you are an exception in my life, there is an exception to that particular feeling. That is why I worked as fast as I could on this case to be home today. When stripped of all the commercial necessity, people acknowledge birthdays in order to express happiness and gratitude that a person they love is alive and in their lives. That is something I would never hate doing for you, because it is true."

Happy tears filled Molly's eyes, and hearing the word _love _in there made her smile brighter than the sun. She got up from her chair and he pulled her into his lap as they held each other. "I love you, Sherlock," she whispered, kissing his neck. "Thank you so much."

When her eyes finally cleared of happy tears, Molly's gaze fell on the microwave clock behind Sherlock: **11:54 pm. **Six minutes left of her birthday.

_Yes, _she thought happily as Sherlock began kissing her neck again. _Better late than never._


End file.
